


Bounty from the Nexus

by FanficsbyVe



Category: De - Fandom, Demon's Souls
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 23:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13422285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficsbyVe/pseuds/FanficsbyVe
Summary: A difference of opinion in the Nexus results in pettiness. One-shot.





	Bounty from the Nexus

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, everyone. I know it's been a month since I've written something.  
> In case anyone of you are wondering: don't worry, I'm fine. It's just been one hell of a time. Went to visit the boyfriend for Christmas and New Year, but he broke his arm and since there is no family around, I decided to extend my stay to care for him. He's doing better now and I'm writing this from the United States on a moment where I'm not working. It's not great or spectacular, but just because I miss writing and wanna get back in the game. Enjoy, if you can. :D

Being in Soul Form and forced to slay Demons was a thankless job.

Lucian Marchand, the man who was mostly just known as the Slayer of Demons around the Nexus, once again became very aware of that. For the last weeks, months…possibly even years, his life had become a mad dash for survival against monstrosities he could’ve never thought to dream up. And that was without even taking the constant death and resurrection into account…

As such, the Slayer of Demons almost welcomed whatever time he got to spend in the Nexus. It was quiet. It was safe. Also, unlike the Demons that haunted the outside world, at least the Maiden in Black was kind, courteous and not intending to rip out his liver. All that helped greatly in turning it into a safe haven of sorts, albeit a rather static and ethereal one.

As of late, however, the alternate dimension had been filling up with all manner of curious characters. Sorcerers, clergy, wandering warriors, even a shift merchant that went by the name of Patches the Hyena. An encounter with said shifty character at the Shrine of Storms had in fact resulted in the newest addition to this motley crew. 

Of course, Lucian was no stranger to Saint Urbain. He’d grown up like any good Boletarian boy whose parents could afford an education and that included being taught plenty about religion, from all of God’s holy names to all the Saints and their supposed holy deeds. Frankly, he’d considered it as wasteful then as he did now and quite frankly, those sentiments extended to the dear Saint himself.

While not an unpleasant fellow by any means, Urbain was very much of the stay put and pray variety of sainthood. Which, seeing how most of Boletaria was rather religious and it still hadn’t stopped the Demon Fog from spreading, seemed as useful to the warrior as nipples on a chest plate. Not to mention that he spoke rather ill of the Maiden in Black as well and it rubbed him the wrong way seeing how she at least contributed in making the warriors strong enough to defeat her own kind. 

All in all, Lucian didn’t find himself nearly as much in awe of the Saint as his followers were. The one thing that could be said in his favor was that he was a knowledgeable source on miracles. He taught a wide variety of rather useful ones and was said to be able to even convert the souls of Demons into particularly powerful variation provided one had the aptitude to cast them. As such, the Slayer deemed it wise to bite back his intense dislike of the man and simply accept all the help he could get.

So here he was, watching how the Saint converted three colorless Demon souls into a miracle that would help heal him after battle. He witnessed the process in silence, not very eager to make conversation, his eyes shifting across the Nexus in an effort to find some distraction. He soon found it, though it wasn’t what he expected.

The Slayer of Demons had noticed before that the holy man had taken quite a lot of luggage with him into this ethereal realm. He hadn’t bothered to look at it thoroughly. After all, the possessions of clerics were hardly interesting to him. At least, that was what he thought until now.

Lucian could only blink as he found himself looking over a pile of apples. And pears plus a large melon. Some barely concealed meaty delicacies with a medium wheel of cheese. Fancy wine. Something that definitely looked like bootlegged beer. That and baguettes. Indeed, God or the Old One or whoever knew where on earth he got baguettes.

He cocked his head. He knew Urbain was called the jolly saint and all, but why, of all things on this withered corpse of a world, did someone decide to drag along so much food? One didn’t need food in the Nexus and while he wasn’t averse to alcohol, he knew it rarely solved a problem of the Demon variety. It was then and there that he once again decided he was glad he stopped paying tithes to the Church.

Right about the same time, Urbain had finally finished converting the souls into the much needed miracle. The warrior quietly took it from him, allowing himself to get familiar with the new magic. He forced himself to keep his eyes away from the large pile of food and bite back his renewed sense of dislike for the man, once again telling himself there was no point in wasting energy on hard-headed clerics.

At least, he felt that way until said cleric opened his mouth. 

“It delights me that you have chosen to rely upon my aid and council. Not all slayers possess such wisdom. In fact, most are quite taken in by the sorcerer and that raven-haired temptress.” 

Lucian forced a smile at that almost literally hurt him and somewhere from the tip of his toes, he could feel a distinct boiling sensation. He didn’t much care about what the man said about Freke; he doubted Freke himself did and even he found the sorcerer shifty at best. Yet his depiction of the kind, friendly and helpful demoness as some kind of irredeemable succubus definitely got on his bad side. And of course, it didn’t help that the man didn’t stop there.

“It is very understandable, however unfortunate it is. After all, Demons are masters of tempting the weak-willed and a fair face is the weakness of many a great man, even of some particularly depraved women. And Demons live to prey on human weakness…

Before the Slayer of Demons could even so much as think to stop him, the Saint was already trailing off into one of his lectures no one had asked for. Almost blissfully, he started burbling about the beginning of time. About how God created the world and humanity than gave it wisdom, before Demons started to appear. It was the same old story his tutors beat him over to memorize and he could already feel himself nodding off.

Part of him figured he should just walk away. He doubted the Saint would even notice if he did. The man clearly loved to hear himself speak and he figured that by the end of his self-indulgent tale of God’s greatness, he could have already made it as far as Allant’s castle. Truth be told, he might prefer being roasted by Allant’s pet dragons over this.

Quickly glancing around, if only to see if Urbain’s followers were watching him, he then carefully started to toe away from the saint. A careful shuffle slowly worked its way up to a step, then another, as he gingerly started to inch his way back from the still blabbering man. It seemed to be working and as the saint practically seemed to fall in a delirium at hearing his own words, an opportunity to escape became clear.

He turned his eyes to the distance. Those archstones had never looked so attractive in his entire life. By now, he was at least two feet away from the still rambling saint and making distance quickly. Even now, neither he or his followers had noticed his steady retreat, seemingly lost in the tales of their own greatness, and he was certain he would soon embrace the welcome if not violent familiarity of the Demons once more.

Until right that moment, when apparently the warrior and the saint’s mind had apparently turned to the same topic.

“Demons come in all shapes and sizes, but the maiden is certainly the strangest of it. She claims she is older than even the Old One, yet she seems human. Perhaps she was there, on that first day before the Demon Fog? So perhaps she gave birth to all of Demonkind then through sheer evil done in life? There must be no other way. And I suppose she is too far gone to repent for her wickedness now. So she too shall be cleansed and her corruption stripped from this earth…” 

Those words were said in such a matter-of-fact, casual tone of righteousness that the Slayer couldn’t help but not shrug them off. Every syllable bore into his brain and suddenly the anger he had pushed back before made a return. Except this time it had graduated to outright fury.

Once again, it just baffled him that even when the world was going to hell in a handbasket, this man still spent all his time sitting around and condemning people who actually did try to help. That even now, for once, he couldn’t put aside any personal dislike. That he dared disparage one of the kindest and sweetest people he ever met right there to his face.

His hands clenched in fists, so hard he could hear the knuckles crack through the armor. This time he went too far.

Right now, he wanted nothing more than to test whether Urbain’s God would intervene if he’d choke the life out of him with a single hand or set his preaching arse on fire. Yet just before he decided to act on that dear wish, he thought better of it. That would only make him a martyr and no doubt his little sheep would come flocking to defend them. Even if he could flatten them with his eyes closed at this point, he disliked the idea of involving others in his personal grievances, even if the saint no doubt didn’t. 

He groaned, only for his eyes to turn back to man and his needless baggage. It was there, however, that an idea for vengeance suddenly occurred to him. An idea that would require a lot less violence and bloodshed but would still give him some manner of satisfaction.

It was stupid. It was childish. It was the kind of thing that most people would scoff at for even attempting. He didn’t care. At that point, he decided he might as well fight fire with fire, even if they were embers of pettiness more than anything else. 

“…It is God's way of telling us we must stand up to the Demons. We must defeat the Demons, annul the curse of Boletaria, and purge the evil magicians who manipulate those accursed souls. As you know, souls are a source of evil power emanating from the Demons. King Allant was overcome by a lust for such power, and has placed Boletaria in her present predicament. Old Freke and the candle maiden are no exception…”

Only now did Saint Urbain seem to exhale from his long-winded speech about the evils of this world. He looked around, almost satisfied, pleased to see his followers were listening from a distance, as always with baited breath. After all, one could never be warned about danger too many times.

At the same time he noticed, however, that the target of his lecture was conspicuously absent. He frowned. A simple warrior such as himself would do well to listen to the words of a holy man. After all, so many men had fallen in the Demon Fog before him or turned to that Demoness for help.

He let out a wistful sigh. He supposed there was nothing to be done. Warriors were often foolish, impatient men after all and ill at ease with all that was holy and sound. He could only hope the Slayer of Demons would learn in time and until that hopeful moment, he would pray for him to the merciful God that would surely deliver him.

As such, he uttered the standard prayer to his deity in order to guide him, before deciding he’d done enough for one day. He stretched his muscles and let out a contented sigh. Then, with a faint smile, he turned around. He had definitely earned a small reward for his efforts.

Or so was the plan until he turned to his luggage. A single look in its direction had his face pale before his mouth started to hang open in a distressed ‘O’ shape. An involuntary word that was not of the saintly variety suddenly echoed through the Nexus, still loud enough for those closest to hear, and Urbain only barely contained himself from shouting as he spoke again.

“Sweet merciful God! My food! What happened to my food?” 

As the saint tried to keep from shouting that question to the heavens, there was very little to be found in another part of the world. Rather the peacefulness of the Nexus, this place was rotten and foul. The stench of death and grime was everywhere and not a single ray of sunlight or hope made it into this forsaken Valley of Defilement.

It was there, sitting on a rafter after having cleared out some pests, that Lucian was wondering if he was indeed the worst man alive, all while gulping down some beer and chewing on a pear. He entertained that thought for exactly five seconds before he decided he didn’t care. Seeing how he didn’t worship the gods, he’d probably already earned his spot in damnation. He might as well rack up the extra fouls and go there a legend. Besides, if anything Urbain looked like he could lose some of that food…

If anything, the bigger question right now should be how he even had an appetite in a place like this. The Valley reeked in a way not even the poorest districts in his home city could come close to. Disease was everywhere and pain and suffering was palpable in every corner. Yet there was also a strange purity about it, like a beating unblemished heart residing deep within that he couldn’t reach yet.

What little the Slayer of Demons knew from this place was from stories. Apparently, this was where those with terminal illness were brought from all over Boletaria. To live out their miserable lives here, away from others so their corruption would affect no one else. Here, they were left to their own devices, to die off and be forgotten by the rest of the world.

The thought made him shudder. Did God turn away from these people, he wondered, or did these people in their suffering rightfully turned away from him? If the rumors that Astraea was an Archdemon in this place were true, he didn’t blame her. Why not become a Demon and use your power for good if God lies idle? Why not embrace a Demon if at least she tried to relieve your suffering…

He huffed at that grim thought, but just as he was about to reach for another piece of food, determined to finish the entire load out of sheer spite, a small sound caught his attention. Instantly, his head jerked in his direction and a hand reached for his sword. He was about to face his enemy, only to hear a soft little gasp and scrambling.

It was then he caught sight of the one watching him. A scraggly little boy was fearfully watching him from the shadows, eyes nervously shifting around to look for a way to escape. He didn’t look as affected by disease as many of the others he had encountered here, though his ragged clothing was falling off his body and he seemed severely underfed. Still, the boy seemed timid and fearful and therefore, was not a threat to him.

He sighed and put down his sword again, giving the child a nod. “It is alright. I will not hurt you.” 

The lad didn’t respond, still staring at him apprehensively. He didn’t blame him for that. I supposed people in armor were usually dangerous in this place. He shrugged and turned back to the food, but noticed the child didn’t leave.

He could practically slap himself for his stupidly when he realized why, a few second later. Here he was, sitting on a giant pile of fresh and tasty food, in the middle of a place where everything was rotting and fading and this child looked like it hadn’t been fed properly in God knew how long. What he had was like a bag of gold to a man in debt and it was killing the little boy yet at the same time he couldn’t bear to leave.

The warrior felt his heart break a little. How on earth did a child end up here anyway? According to the church, were they not innocent? Perhaps he got sick too or was born here amongst the filth, either in his mother’s belly when she was sent here or simply conceived on this rotten soil. It didn’t matter. He was here to live amongst the decay and currently had to watch a feast with armor and a sword standing in his way. 

At least, that might be how the boy would see it. For all his pettiness and disdain of religious morals, Lucian still had a heart left in him. He might not be a good man by any church’s standards, but he was still capable of some kindness. 

He smiled and gestured. “You’re hungry? Come sit. Feel free to help yourself. Courtesy of a Saint.” 

The child’s eyes went wide and he looked at him in shock and disbelief. In the end, however, hunger clearly won out over caution. He practically ran up to him and plopped down beside him, hands reaching for the bread and greedily tearing into it like a wolf might tear apart a freshly caught hare. Even so, the lad still had it in him to look up and smile in gratitude and the warrior couldn’t help but return it.

The two of them sat there for a while, no conversation passed between them as they ate and drank. There was no sound in the Valley either. Just an almost peaceful quiet that made this place seem less bad than it was for once and a warmth not caused by rot. Perhaps Saint Astraea was still there and delighted that perhaps there was some good coming into this place.

Truthfully, he didn’t know and in the end, it didn’t matter. After a while, he felt the need to continue again in this hopeless quest and he once again found the grime of the place getting to him. He got to his feet, causing the boy to stiffen and look at him questioningly. He simply shook his head with a chuckle. 

“Keep the rest, boy. You need it more than I do.” 

The little boy didn’t answer, only nodding happily with a hint of surprise. The Slayer of Demon briefly padded his head, then picked up his sword and shield. He stepped away from his little companion and turned his eyes back to the Valley before pressing on.

Let Saint Urbain keep his prayers and his lectures. Let him look down with half-meant pity on those he deemed lost or corrupted. It were a man’s actions that defined him and that could change the course of history. The Demon Fog had to be stopped and the Maiden in Black needed him to help her with that. And even if he was only one simple man, he was determined to try. Over and over, no matter how long it took.

He hoped the Saint would live. If only so he could gloat to his face when this was all over. To show him how wrong he was about everything he knew about humans and their convictions. To tell him the godless had a place in this world too and cared just as much about it as the holy men and women did. That, he decided, was better than even the richest of food.


End file.
